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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24635455">Night at the Museum</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrycat/pseuds/merrycat'>merrycat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>What We Do in the Shadows (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blink And You Miss It Slash, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Horse Girl Energy, Light Angst, Mild Language, Nandor's Love Language is Receiving Gifts, Not Beta Read, Very Mild Pre-Slash</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:21:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,690</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24635455</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrycat/pseuds/merrycat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Met is hosting a new temporary exhibition 'Treasures of the Ottoman Empire' and Nandor insists that they all go. Just a slice of undead life. </p><p>Set Post Collaboration and Pre Witches. A truly tiny bit of Guillermo/Nandor.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Guillermo/Nandor the Relentless (What We Do in the Shadows TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>203</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Night at the Museum</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was rare for the vampires of Staten Island to venture outside of the <em>relative</em> safety of their borough, but when a poster for the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s latest exhibition had appeared on the bus stop outside their house, Nandor had insisted that they go.</p><p>“Look Guillermo, ‘Treasures of the Ottoman Empire’ - that’s me!”</p><p>“Yes Master, it certainly is…”</p><p>Luckily the Met stayed open late every Saturday and with Simon the Devious’ former squad preoccupied with a fifteen way struggle for power (Laszlo’s money was on Mr. Fifties), there was a significantly lower chance than usual of being ripped to shreds by vengeful murderous goons.</p><p>Guillermo wasn’t a 'bright lights, big city' kind of guy but Nandor had spoken of little else in the run up to the night and despite the new awkwardness between them, Guillermo still possessed a familiar’s desire to please. Laszlo and Nadja never missed a night out, no matter how boring, and Colin Robinson literally fed off the boredom of humans, so a night at the museum was pretty much his dream date.</p><p>“Museums are an energy vampire’s buffet, Guillermo. You’ve got over five hundred different variations of boredom to snack on.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>So it was that this most unusual group found themselves standing on the grand steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.</p><p>“What terrible flight conditions, all that light pollution is a bitch on the old bat eyes,” groused Laszlo. “This better be worth the trip, boy.”</p><p>Having departed by bus an hour earlier, with only Colin Robinson for company, Guillermo found himself unable to muster even the smallest amount of fucks for Laszlo’s plight. He had had to resort to feigning sleep in order to get some relief from the energy vampire’s exact recounting of the bus timetable. This had backfired magnificently when Colin had simply switched to a monologue on the ideal amount of sleep required for a adult human male and whether it was eight hours or ten.</p><p>Gritting his teeth in a strained smile, Guillermo turned to face his Master. Nandor had decided to wear his finest garments in honour of the occasion. His broad chest was covered in an armored vest and his shoulders were dramatically framed by a heavy black velvet cloak, which had been embellished with real gold. Nadja and Laszlo had also dressed up, with Laszlo sporting an almost comically tall top hat and Nadja a complex hair arrangement that looked vaguely like she was being consumed by an errant fox. Colin was wearing what he insisted was a new polyester cardigan (polyester being the most boring of fabrics) although it was completely indistinguishable from every other cardigan he owned. Even Guillermo had made an effort, swapping his usual oversized sweater look for a turtleneck and patterned cardigan combination. The overall effect still leaned towards the grandfatherly but in the surrounds of the art museum, it could almost be mistaken for a cool purposeful choice and not the end product of shopping exclusively in Goodwill’s Bargain Bin.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Lead the way, Gui-eerrrmo.”</p><p>The vampires followed him up the steps, joining the queue of human attendees at the entrance with only minimal complaint. Colin, missing no opportunity to feed, began loudly, yet still somehow monotonously, reciting a list of the top ten queues he had personally stood in. He had just reached number five (Black Friday 2017 at a Hobby Lobby) when the security guard waved them forward with a flat “Come on through”- this command handily negating the usual back and forth drama surrounding vampire entrance.</p><p>Unfortunately the guard had waved them straight towards the metal detectors, which meant that Guillermo had to quickly fumble to remove the amour that Nandor had insisted on wearing - much to the vampire’s chagrin. He chastised Guillermo throughout the entire process, all the while Laszlo and Nadja snickered in the background.</p><p>Guillermo had long grown accustomed to the stares Nandor attracted in public. In fact he usually rather liked it, as it meant that absolutely no one was looking at him. But now, with the curious eyes of the crowd on both of them, he felt self conscious and foolish. Nandor, of course, was completely oblivious to it all. At least he had actually listened to Guillermo’s earlier pleas to leave his favourite ornate daggers at home...</p><p>By the time the pair had successfully passed through security, Guillermo was flushed and sweating. With a sigh he proceeded into the entrance hall, picking up a free map as he went. </p><p>“Just wait here a second, I need to put my backpack in the cloakroom,” said Guillermo, setting off across the grand room. Nandor’s quizzical “They have a room just for cloaks?” left unanswered.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>In good news for Guillermo’s blood pressure, the four were too engrossed in their surroundings to cause any real trouble during his short absence.</p><p>As they approached the entrance to the Ottoman exhibition, however, a high needling voice rang out.</p><p>“Excuuuuussssssseeeee meeeeeeee.”</p><p>A man, balding but without the wherewithal to fully commit to it, was approaching the group at brisk pace. The metal badge carefully pinned to his faded black dress shirt identified him as Eric.</p><p>“You can’t be dressed like that in here. The Metropolitan Museum of Art of New York City has a <em>clear </em>dress code for visitors,” he hissed, smug self satisfaction evident on his bland face.</p><p>“Excuse me!” replied Laszlo. “Gizmo’s cardigan may be hideous but it is the bes-”</p><p>“Not him, you three!” he interrupted, raising his hand to point with unconcealed delight at Nadja, Laszlo and Nandor. “This is a venue for the appreciation of fine art. Not a place for gaudy and distracting costumes.”</p><p>“Costumes?” Nadja spluttered. “Costumes!? These are our clothes you ridiculously rude man.”</p><p>“You expect me to believe you dress like this regularly?” scoffed Eric, displaying a truly remarkable lack of self-preservation.</p><p>Nadja’s indignant reply was interrupted by the dull tone of Colin Robinson.</p><p>“Gee, this dress code of yours sounds mighty interesting. Care to give me a full rundown of its contents? What’s the stance on kilts? Are dirks allowed? How about a <em>sgian-dubh.</em>”</p><p>Erik blinked rapidly. In the nineteen years he had worked here, no one had ever asked him for <em>more </em>information on their dress code. “Well actually that’s a very complex question. To answer correctly, we will first have to return to the year 1870 and to the grand opening of the Metropolitan Museum of the Art of New York City…”</p><p>Were they - no they couldn’t be - flirting? Guillermo blanched, it didn’t bear thinking about.</p><p>“One night out without incident. One bloody night. Is that so much to ask?” cried Nadja.</p><p>Eric, now enthralled by Colin’s talk of tartan colors, didn’t even notice as they slipped away.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“I say, my fine fellow, this really is something,” said Laszlo.</p><p>Guillermo looked up from the map. Before him was a display case filled with ornate gold jewelry. Necklaces and rings, bracelets and diadems; displayed together in almost overpowering excess. Beside it, Nandor stared approvingly down.</p><p>“Look, Guillermo,” he said, in a hushed reverent tone.</p><p>Nandor stood there admiring the jewelry for a long while, then gently grabbing Guillermo’s arm he led him to the next case. Nadja and Laszlo followed close behind. They continued in this manner throughout the exhibition. Each display was more splendid than the last - delicate tapestries, intricate figurines and engraved tableware all vying for attention. Nandor by his side the whole time: gesturing excitedly at each case's contents, waxing lyrically about the artistry, beaming proudly in front of a display of fine horse armor - ‘”My John, he had armor like that”- scoffing at the ‘puny’ swords on display - “Mine are much bigger” - occasionally standing silent in apparent deep contemplation. Surrounded by the treasures of his homeland, encased in glass though they may be, Nandor looked every inch the fierce leader he had once been...</p><p>Hours passed. Laszlo and Nadja grew bored and absconded to explore the rest of the museum. Laszlo muttering something about ‘sex pots’ which Guillermo choose to ignore.</p><p>Finally, the gallery mostly empty at this point, Nandor and Guillermo came to the last display case. Here a plethora of miniature paintings were displayed, each depicting a well dressed and well bearded Nandor look-alike. The real thing clapped his hands together delightedly.</p><p>“Why there’s Vahid the Reckless and Farhad the Handsome. My old hunting buddies!” he smiled, eyes crinkling.</p><p>Guillermo sported a matching grin, glad to see his Master in such good spirits. Nandor bent down to carefully read the descriptions of each artefact, growing silent as he did so. After some time, he raised his head, paused, then said contemplatively as if to himself - “But where am I? Vahid and Farhad… Even Kayvan the Foolish and he was a terrible ruler. Truly terrible. He tried to ban dancing. Disastrous… Yet they are all here.”</p><p>Guillermo cleared his throat, unsure of what to say. 'What to do when your undead master is angsting about his historic legacy' was a topic that had yet to be covered in the Miss Manners etiquette column he liked to read during his fifteen minute break.</p><p>Nandor turned, eyes alighting on a staff member sitting nearby.</p><p>“Excusing me, Miss. I was hoping you might help. I am looking for Nandor the Relentless? Big man, fearsome ruler, turned the Euphrates red twice - overall all round impressive guy.”</p><p>She smiled politely back at him and rose from her perch to stand in front of the display case.</p><p>“I don’t think we have a portrait of him,” she said, eyes scanning its contents. “Nandor the Relentless, you said? Ah yes, well you see there’s been a lot of scholarly debate about him...”</p><p>“The scholars debate me - a him?”</p><p>“Yes,” she replied, deep in thought “some scholars don’t think he was real.”</p><p>“They don’t believe he was <em>what</em>!?” bellowed Nandor. “What a cruel thing to say about m-someone.”</p><p>She startled. “I suppose it is... It is thought that he was an invention of the locals at the time. A kind of folkloric warrior figure used to scare off possible intruders. Very few documents survive from that period, but all that do say that he lived for over a hundred years which obviously is not possible.”</p><p>“No sense. Complete <em>no sense</em>. The man has 200,000 direct descendants you know?! Are they all lies?” cried Nandor, indignant with rage.  </p><p>“Okay.. that’s oddly specific...”</p><p>“Begone Scholar Lady,” declared Nandor, fluttering his hand wildy in front of the young woman’s face.</p><p>“Nice to meet you too,” she replied, slowly backing away.</p><p>Guillermo silently mouthed his thanks to her retreating figure.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“I wish to go home now,” said Nandor flatly. All signs of his previous good mood gone.</p><p>“Of course, Master. Are you going to fly back or will you travel with me?”</p><p>Nandor mumbled indistinctly, gesturing vaguely with his left hand. Guillermo, having spent nearly eleven years deciphering his moods, understood it to mean they would return together.</p><p>“Okay, I just need to collect my backpack. It won’t take long” said Guillermo, receiving a grunt in response.</p><p>Exiting the gallery, Guillermo quickly returned to the cloakroom. Spotting a familiar beige figure on his way back (Was he still talking to Eric? How had the man not died yet?) he ducked swiftly into the gift shop. The vague distant drone of the energy vampire causing his fillings to ache.</p><p>Guillermo scanned the items on display - perhaps a gift might cheer his Master up. There was a special section dedicated entirely to the Ottoman exhibition. He picked up a guide book, then quickly placed it back upon seeing the price. Maybe just a postcard...</p><p>As he approached the counter, however, he spotted something much <em>much</em> better and just inexpensive enough for him to afford the journey home for the two of them. He quickly paid and went to find Nandor at the entrance.</p><p>“What took you so long?” sulked Nandor, stalking off before Guillermo could open his mouth to answer.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The rest of their journey passed in silence. Not the tremendously uncomfortable kind that so often filled their recent interactions, but strained non the less. Finally they arrived home - Nandor carelessly tossing his heavy cloak to the floor upon entry. Guillermo stooped to pick it up, struggling under the weight of the fabric.</p><p>When he reached Nandor’s chamber, the vampire was sitting silently at his dressing table; his arms crossed and brow furrowed. Before him, where a mirror would normally sit, was a small portrait of indeterminate age.</p><p>Guillermo deposited the cloak on a nearby chaise lounge, not without a great degree of effort. He clasped the straps of his backpack, thoughts turning to the gift tucked inside, before removing it and placing it on the floor nearby.</p><p>“I would like to go to coffin now Guillermo”</p><p>Guillermo, to his credit, refrained from pointing out that it was barely past midnight.</p><p>“Of course, Master. Would you like me to brush your hair first?”</p><p>Another grunted response. Taking the brush, he began to gently pull it through his Master’s thick hair.</p><p>Cautiously, Guillermo spoke. “Did you enjoy tonight?”</p><p>Nandor sighed deeply. “Yes. It was enjoyable.”</p><p>With no more words forthcoming and Guillermo completely unequipped for such a discussion, silence blossomed anew. Perhaps Nandor should see a therapist. Perhaps they should all see a therapist actually, it would probably help a lot...</p><p>Now finished with his favourite task, Guillermo paused then spoke hesitantly. “I have a gift for you.”</p><p>“A gift?” Nandor turned to face him, eyes bright. “What is it?”</p><p>Guillermo bent to retrieve the item from his backpack. He handed it to the vampire, still wrapped in its paper bag.</p><p>"It’s only something small…”</p><p>His cheeks blushed a vibrant red. What had he been thinking? They had just spent hours admiring the many treasures of Nandor’s homeland. Of course, he wouldn’t be impressed with this cheap toy. The man had had cupboards full of gold.</p><p>Nandor removed it from its flimsy wrapping, unspeaking. In his large hand, the trinket looked tiny. It was a figurine made of cheap metal, a small copy of one of the horse statues that had been on display in the exhibition.</p><p>Nandor let out a bark of laughter. He held the horse delicately between his finger and thumb. He began to move it back and forth, as if it was galloping.</p><p>“Ah it is just like the one I had when I was a boy.”</p><p> He enclosed it in his fist, clasping it against his broad chest.</p><p>“Thank you Guillermo,” he said, a small smile on his face. This little praise was enough to deepen Guillermo’s blush. </p><p>“You’re welcome Master,” he mumbled, bowing his head slightly but without breaking their eye contact.</p><p>Nandor rose. “Now to rest.”</p><p>Guillermo assisted him into his coffin as usual, waiting until Nandor was comfortably settled among his furs before reaching up to close the lid.</p><p>“Goodnight, Master.”</p><p>“Goodnight, Guillermo.”</p><p>Nandor’s left hand still clasped the small horse figurine.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Good Morning, you’re watching ABC Morning News. Today we have a special live report from a break in with a difference.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Hi Barbara, Kent in the studio here, can you tell us exactly what happened last night?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“It’s a strange one, Kent. This morning, custodians at the Metropolitan Museum of Art discovered a smashed display case in the new ‘Treasures of the Ottoman Empire’ exhibition. However, after a careful check by the curators it was determined that nothing was missing!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Nothing missing? That is strange…”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“That’s not the strangest part Kent! Not only was nothing missing, but something had actually been added!”</em>
</p><p><em>“Now that really is odd! What was the object in question</em> <em>?”</em></p><p><em>“Well as you can see from this image released by the museum, it’s a portrait. The Curator of Middle Eastern Archaeology has checked it and she believes it to be an authentic 13</em> <em> <sup>th</sup> </em> <em>  century piece. Although further studies will need to take place to confirm this." </em></p><p>
  <em>"Wow! Do they know who it’s a portrait of?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yes Kent, according to the note found with it, it depicts one Nandor the Relentless who is, and I quote, 'definitely real you ill-educated peasants'…”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Fin</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! This was just a silly idea that I had that I had to write out. I have never been to the Met and I know very little about the Ottoman Empire, so I tried to keep both vague. I do know that you have to purchase tickets to visit the Met, although New York State residents can get it for free. I tried to incorporate it in but I didn't like how it read so I ending up cutting it all.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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